


Red

by rhosgotskulled



Category: Whitechapel (TV), Whitechapel ITV
Genre: Angst, Crime Scenes, Gen, Post S4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-29 15:20:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhosgotskulled/pseuds/rhosgotskulled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team have never fallen so low as they do right now after the events of series 4. As Chandler attempts to move on and impress the Inspectors from Scotland Yard who have come to respond to a negative report of the team, Miles is still hell bent on proving Louise Iver's involvement in the evils that take place in Whitechapel and around them still, with help from the theatrical Buchan.<br/>Though Kent and Mansell have made up, Kent still feels uncomfortable seeing his sister being so happy with someone where Kent cannot seem to get luck with his own happiness. But can he find the opportunity now to impress a certain person?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Miles

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoy the story. The format is a little Game of Thrones-like, so you have individual character chapters. This first one is based around Miles' view point whereas the next will be Chandler and so on...Please respond if you want to say anything. I'd love feedback.

The team had struggled to overcome to failure of the Abrahamians case, DI Joe Chandler most of all. DCI Ray Miles could easily see the turmoil in Joe every day, coming into the department and immediately escaping into his office, hiding from the rest of the team and mostly to Miles himself. Miles tapped his finger against the glass of Chandler’s door and waited for permission to enter. Chandler was as immaculate as ever, a crisped white shirt, neatly combed back hair and his items in an orderly line on his desk before him. Miles couldn’t help but feel inadequately scruffy when he was with Chandler but now more so than ever.  Since the last case work had been unusually quiet, something Miles did not feel comfortable with at all. His theory about Louise Ivers was still haunting him and he couldn’t help thinking that she was involved in the crash that had killed the suspects that terrible night. Before that happened Miles was ready to accept that he had done good, that his years of service had not been for nothing and that he could still work for another 10 years after this success, but now he was not sure he could hope for another decade in the job.

That was why he was seeing DI Chandler right now.

“Hello Miles, please sit down.” Chandler offered him but Miles politely refused.

“I won’t be long, I just came to warn you that Scotland Yard are checking up on us earlier than we expected.” Miles sighed and looked over his shoulder through the windows of Chandler’s desk seeing the Investigation Room still in repairs after Louise’s vandalism.

“What? When? They said they wouldn’t inspect until we gave them full warrant. Half the place isn’t piped properly.” Miles noticed Chandler looking at his wash bowl in the corner of the room, he had taken to washing in the office again since the crash, even when the water was clean again.

“I know, and it’s rude of them to come barging in on here with only a few days’ notice but they’re coming Thursday.”

“That’s only two days away. We’d never be ready in time, and Miles, they’re already thinking we’re incompetent without coming here and seeing the mess.”

Miles had guessed the reason Chandler tended to stay in his room was because of the dust and construction debris in the building. Miles sat down opposite Chandler to try and reassure him.

“Look, Mansell says he knows a friend who could give this place a good nick of paint, something to lighten the place up a bit for a cheap price _and_ done just in one day. Plus we have all the proof and evidence that we’re as capable as any police department out there.”

Chandler was quiet for a moment and then nodded, reaching for his tiger balm on the desk. “You’re right. We just need something that would lift the office again. We need another case.”

By 'another case' Miles knew Chandler meant a grisly one, something they could prove themselves to all the other divisions with, he and Chandler had hoped the last one would have done it, to settle everyone’s paranoia and worries.  Even right after the arrest Miles had noticed a positive surge within the team, if only for a few hours, but it was enough to awaken a spark in Miles, awaken his passion of justice, now it was his turn to do the same in Chandler.

“Thanks for informing me Miles, now I’m sure you have some work to do that I recommend you get done in time for the inspection.” With that he excused Miles with a flip open of a file as he read through. Miles hesitated but knew that if he tried to say anything too personal to Chandler now it would only be useless. Miles had been more worried over Chandler recently but with his youngest daughter and the boy’s growing ever older and family becoming more demanding Miles hardly had time to talk to Joe outside work. It was a pity because besides from himself he doubted Chandler had any friends to talk to him.

Miles left the office and walked past the desks; he observed DC Kent, closest to the office and noticed how Kent averted his gaze now again from the computer screen towards the door of Chandler’s office. Evidently Miles was not the only person concerned about Chandler. He went pass DC Mansell who was grinning down towards his knees under the desk. Miles assumed he was checking a text on his phone from Erica and Miles tapped the wood of the desk to draw Mansell’s attention. “Hey, not on duty. Back to work.” Miles said half-heartedly. Mansell looked up and phone in the draw but stopped Miles before he could walk away any further. “Sir, I was speaking to Rob just now about the paint job and he said he’s up for it. He’s asking what colour?”

Miles shrugged and looked about, “I dunno. A brighter cream perhaps? Just something to freshen it up I guess.” Miles snapped but felt bad, “Tell him thanks. We appreciate it.”

Behind him he heard DC Meg Riley sitting at her desk, her hand was healed now and she looked far better than before Miles was thankful for. “Plain cream? Really? I was hoping maybe some blue, or red, revive it a bit.” She smiled looking around at the dank room. She was right it needed some joy in it but it was a professional place. “What is this? A police department or a French restaurant?”

“Just thought I’d add a little woman’s touch to the place is all Miles.” She said playfully.

“God knows you're right Riley. This place needs some spirit if you ask me.” He quietly commented as he passed her desk. “And not the bad kind.”

Riley understood, she and Buchan were close and Buchan had told her about Miles worried about Louise Ivers, the mysterious old lady who appears everywhere in Whitechapel’s history. But Miles could tell Riley was as dubious as Buchan about her being a dark entity cursing the team. To be honest Miles was wondering himself if he wasn’t just using Louise as an excuse to blame for the team’s bad luck but recently, with the crash, it has been too much of a coincidence to be a mere accident.

Miles left the team to it as he left the room and saw the usual work men in the corridors working in the walls and ceilings. Miles nodded to them as he passed and headed downstairs towards the basement. He heard loud banging of construction work from the Archive’s and could only imagine Buchan’s state of distress he would find when he arrived.

“Careful there! These papers are older than all your ages combined  and if you damage any of them-Oh hello Miles.”

Though the archive had always been an organized mess of files and papers and boxes right now Miles walked in on what he could only describe as a bomb site.  To one side of the room was all the files piled up against the wall and took up a half of the room meanwhile the other side of the room was taken up my 3 workers who were removing the damp on the walls. Though Buchan was glad to see the damp go and not affect his work he did not appreciate the unwanted company in the cramped archive.

“I see you’re busy down here.” Miles stated.

“Well I’m not sure about that, any work I try to do I get interrupted by these lot. Not complaining though, once this damp is gone I can begin expanding.” Buchan found a slip of paper buried among others on his desk and handed it to Miles. Miles looks over it, it looked like an advertisement made by Buchan to email to a newspaper. Buchan had the idea of looking for an assistant and this was his way of getting one. Miles sighed and returned the advert back to Buchan.

“Did you managed to talk to Chandler about it? I mean I’ve tried myself but I haven’t seen him for a while.” Buchan paused and led Miles and himself out of the basement away from the workers. “How is he?”

“He’s coping.” Miles simply replied, wanting to believe himself.

Buchan smiled sadly, Miles could tell he didn’t believe him.

“Look, about the assistant I could help you with that, only…” Miles hesitated. Could he trust Buchan? He didn’t believe him before but Buchan was the only person capable of helping Miles out of everyone he knew. He never thought in a million years he would ask for Buchan’s help.  “Only I want you to help me find out more about Louise Ivers.”

Buchan opened his mouth about to protest but Miles interrupted him.  “I know you don’t think she’s the provocateur but trust me for this one time and I promise I can prove you wrong.”

Buchan thought for a moment, stubbornness still written across his face but then it softened and he sighed and looked at the advert in his hand. “All my life I have been reading, investigating and researching who Jack the Ripper was and why he did what he did. Now I have the opportunity to find out. If what you think is true then as a Ripperologist I can’t pass up an opportunity like this. However mad it may sound.”

“Well…thank you.” Miles said quickly.

“It’s quite fun this, this change of roles. Usually you’d be the sceptical one-”

“Alright, don’t gloat.” Miles told him, not enjoying the smug smile on Buchan’s face one bit. “Here are the details.” He handed Buchan the suspect’s address Miles had uncovered from the database. He was sure it was the right Louise Ivers. Of course neither Chandler nor the others knew about this out of hour’s job but he knew Chandler wouldn’t understand. Whereas Buchan…

 

 

 


	2. Kent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys sorry for the long break, doing my 3rd year of University and its stressful but managed to write not 1, not 2 but 3 chapters for you to make up for it! Enjoy

Coming into work each day after the events of the Abrahamians’ case had been difficult for Kent, though the work was not as gruelling and demanding as it had been through the last few cases, it did had become almost tedious and brain numbing. Usually he would’ve been happy to work this casually, but the atmosphere in the investigation room was tense and thick with the unresolved situation the crash had left the team in. Though Miles made sure the team kept busy and positive, Kent could see the stress on his face, the strain and tiredness. It was like when Miles had been worried about this wife before they knew she was pregnant, but now there was no happy solution, no conclusion where the team could walk away easily and satisfied with their work.

Though Kent was worried about Miles and admired how he tried to keep the sprits up, he worried more about DI Chandler every day. He was growing more quiet and distant from the team. He barely saw Chandler out of his office and when he was he was mostly communicating with Miles and Miles did all the ordering these days. If it had not been for Kent’s concern for Chandler, and his ambition as a Detective Constable, Kent doubted he’d have remained here for so long in this state of mind.

Kent was becoming increasingly insecure, in both his work and in his personal life. He wondered now if the whole Erica and Mansell thing was just an obvious excuse to feel the way he felt but now that he had come to terms with their relationship, having attended one or two of Mansell’s ‘curry nights’ the feeling of exclusion remained, from Erica, Mansell, and now from the reclusive Chandler.  He tried searching for stability in his life and it was work. Though he obviosly cared for his twin sister, his flatmates, Riley and Mansell, to lose his head in the case at work was what brought sense into his life. But now that cases were growing fewer and fewer the work was no longer sustaining Kent anymore.

He caught himself sometimes when he noticed he had been staring too long at Chandler’s office or through the glass where he occasionally saw Chandler rubbing tiger balm at his temples.  He found a fresh pile of files at his desk, dumped on him probably by Mansell. He looked at the swamp of boring paperwork he had to do and though he was grateful no one was getting murdered in Whitechapel he just wished anything could happen. He hoped Chandler would step out of his office looking all purposeful with determined expression all over his face and maybe even have Miles giving out snarky comments.  He looked over to Riley ot her desk, sighing deeply as she turned over another leaf from a thick book. She seemed to be helping out Buchan on something, the book looked prehistoric to Kent. He wondered if she was thinking about taking a break. The summer holidays were coming up and hadn’t she wanted to go and take the kids somewhere? He hoped she’d be able to. At least another person, besides from Mansell, could look chirpy these days.

Just when he was growing fatigued with everything, the door burst wide open from his right and a tall young man wearing white dungarees and a cap splattered with dry paint entered carrying a step ladder under one arm and a tin of paint in another. Mansell saw him and the widest grin appeared on his face and so leapt from his chair and gave the man a half handshake, half hug. It was evidently Mansell’s decorator pal he had promised would lighten the place up a bit.

“Tristan! Thanks for this, pal, it’s good to see you again.” Mansell greeted excitedly. 

Tristan was tall and lanky with freckles and auburn hair with a jolly face. He embraced Mansell back, “You too, it’s a pleasure. When Erica asked, I couldn’t refuse.”

So, he was Erica’s friend? Kent had never seen him before in his life, well, maybe briefly but Kent probably had too much on his mind to have remembered.

Tristan evaluated the room, his head slightly shaking side to side, not pleased with it at all. “I know it’s a police department but it’s a little too depressing.”

Mansell laughed, voicing his agreement.

Kent stood up to give the man a greeting but before he could introduce himself Chandler entered the room with such a force that the room came quiet for a nanosecond, before Mansell gave a nervous grin and led Tristan before Chandler who had just stopped short next to Kent.

“Sir, this is Tristan, the man I was telling you about the painting.”

“Oh,” Chandler simply managed, and vaguely looked at the extended hand Tristan gave him, Kent didn’t expect him to take it and neither did the rest of the team. Awkwardly, Tristan lowered his hand and gestured to the tin of paint, it was a light shade of blue, not quite eggshell but Kent would appreciate the calming connotations of the colour, especially in this room.

“Good to meet you.” Chandler finally began, “and thanks for this favour, it was my DS’s idea but I guess change won’t hurt.” Chandler loosened the collar around his neck with a slight tug and Kent made a note of it. He could tell Chandler was nervous with new people in the room, since Louise Ivers’ vandalism of the office he could tell he was not comfortable with unauthorised personal in the building.

Chandler gestured to the far corner of the room at the back, “That is where you can start for today Tristan, but once we have finished for the day feel free to stay longer to work over to this side of the room.” He motioned to Kent’s side and accidently tapped Kent’s arm as he did so. Chandler recoiled as soon as he made contact and Kent tensed, avoiding every gaze they threw his way.

Chandler finished with Tristan and told everyone to get back to work and turned to re-enter his office, evident relief written all over him.

Once the door clicked shut Kent returned to his desk quickly and continued looking through the files, checking up on any mistakes until he heard Tristan set his stepladder to the corner of the room, Mansell stayed standing, chatting to his friend and Riley had given up on reading the book from Buchan and listened in on their conversation. It was only when Kent’s first name was mention did Kent place his attention towards the pair.

“Emerson is it?”

Kent lifted his head to see Tristan looking at him.

“Yes, it’s Emerson.” Kent declared.

“Sometimes he likes to be called Emma.” Mansell teased, nudging Tristan’s arm.

“Oh pack it in, Finley.” Riley defended, but she wore an amused smile on her face.

Kent sighed and wondered how long this would take when Tristan began again.

“You’re Erica’s twin. God, I can see it now. Erica is a rather lovely lady-”

“Oh steady on. Her fella’s right there.” Riley told Tristan, pointing to Mansell who took the compliment as an innocent gesture.

“Alright?” Kent merely greeted, he smiled tight lipped.

Tristan climbed the step ladder, a paint brush in one hand, he appeared even taller now, towering above them but he still had his eyes set on Kent.  Kent could feel the hair at the back of neck rise up, not unlike the sensation where Chandler had accidently touched him only a moment before.

“I’ve heard a lot about you Emerson. From Erica, all the good things, from Mansell...well, not so much.” He joked as Mansell rolled his eyes at him as if to say ‘Don’t you dare mention anything.’

“Oh right.” Kent failed to contribute more to the conversation. He had been reading the same sentence for the fifth time when he glanced up at Tristan who was now stretching up at the top edge of the wall, doing careful but graceful strokes of paint onto the wall. It was already looking nicer but Kent could not avoid the tightness of Tristan’s arm, the toned muscle underneath and before he glanced anywhere else he sharply pulled his head away and back down to his work.

Mansell was back at his desk by now and he couldn’t help but feel suffocated and watched at that moment. And he did what he usually did in those times when he felt like that. Without drawing too much attention to himself he’d prop his right hand up on the table and giving a sigh of changing positions, thenwould lay his head on his hand so his head was directed to his left, towards the office. Where people would hopefully think he was only releasing some strain in his neck and looking at his computer screen or down onto the page, he could actually steal secret glances into the DI’s office, only for a moment to calm himself down. There was no other person at his side to avoid, no one except the walls and Chandler. He focused on the ways Chandler organized and lined his objects on the desks, Kent’s mind cleared of any messy thoughts. When Chandler applied the tiger balm sometimes Kent imagined he could smell the fragrance, only for a second. When his head was clear and he was relaxed he would keep Chandler to his privacy and begin work again.


	3. Chandler

The phone rang on his desk but Chandler let it ring 3 times before answering it. I had become his new ‘thing.’ He wiped his sweaty palm on a napkin before he tok the receiver in his hand and took a moment.

“DI Chandler speaking.” 

“Hello Joe, its Commander Anderson here.”

Joe paused, either too surprised to speak or frightened.

“Commander Anderson its good to hear from you, it’s been too long.” Chandler rubbed at his temples wondering why Anderson was contacting him, it had been a while and Chandler had lost all hope in regaining’s Anderson trust again.

“I heard about the last case, Joe. It was really unfortunate for you and the team.”

Chandler could hear him hesitate over the phone but he did not press him. What exactly was he ringing for? Checking up on him? Didn’t think he was competent for the job anymore?

Lord knows Chandler had been feeling the strain since that night of the crash. As ever when he could feel justice in his grasp something would happen to snatch that victory away from him and upon each failure his confidence had taken a knocking. His nerves were now were non-existent but he didn’t want to admit it to anyone.

“Anyway what I had called you to say was to let you know that I personally will be leading the inspection, though I will remain unbiased during it I will be hoping you don’t let me down.”

“Of course Anderson, I will not.”

“Good because I won’t be the only one coming. I also wanted to warn you Chandler. Though I have some say in what Scotland Yard final verdict will be I have no control in the inspection itself. Superintendent Stewart will be leading and let me tell you he is a force to reckon with. Joe, I am saying this as a friend, who knew your father and watched you grow up. I really hope you don’t do anything rash to jeopardise your position.”

Chandler gripped the receiver tighter, closer to his ear, he was agitated now, and he could feel his shirt sticking to his back, feeling clammy under the lights.

“Why wold I do that?”

“Because I know you, Joe. Under the pressure you’ve been through lately I want to guide you and help you.”

“I remember how much you didn’t want me to be a Detective Inspector, perhaps you were right.”

He had wanted to deny that thought ever since it sprouted into his head when he tore up that letter, the supposed message from his father.  Maybe a good clean office job suited him. But he knew he couldn’t let go of the chase. It was the only thing that was keeping him sane… that did keep him sane.

Chandler sighed and cleared his head before continuing, “I didn’t mean that. I want to keep this job and my team, we’ve been through too much to let it slip through my fingers now. I promise nothing inappropriate will happen under this inspection. I want to keep trying Commander.”

He tried not let the desperation  in his voice show but from Anderson’s prolonged pause Chandler figured he did hear it.

“I still have faith in you Joe. Don’t let me down.”

And with that Commander Anderson let down the receiver and the phone call hung up.

Chandler slowly placed the phone down.

His hand tracing the line of his mouth for a moment he stared at the drawer underneath his desk and opened it. Inside were the torn up pieces of the letter. He wasn’t sure why he had kept the dreadful reminder of his failure but now and again it reminded him why he was here when he felt everything was slipping through his fingers. Sometimes when he looked at those fingers they looked blood stained and it would take Chandler half an hour cleaning his hands in the boiling water.

He wanted to distract himself but he hated going outside the office, he needed to find Miles and tell him about what happened and prepare for the inspection.

Chandler swept a hand through his hair and straightened his jacket before leaving the office, the room was quiet except for the slight musical humming coming from the decorator in the corner. Tristan was it?

He passed Kent then Mansell and Riley’s desk, she looked up and gave him a warm smile. He wondered if she had guessed about this new habit of staying inside the office, could relate herself to his nervous condition, as she experience the same reclusiveness since the body falling onto the car she had just been inside only moments before. He nodded to her and turned his right to observe how the painting was going.

He stopped dead in his tracks as he saw Tristan painting the wall, not blue, but blood red.  It had only be a moment but Chandler’s stomach turned and his head ached, his skin getting itchy and irritable. His reaction must’ve caused a fright as Tristan jumped in response and waved his paintbrush a little that resulted to a small splash of blue paint landing on the shoulder of Chandler’s jacket.

That did nothing to sooth his anxiety.

He began to feel the same way he had felt in the sewers before they found the Abrahamians in the Chapel and as his hands struggled to scrabble the jacket off he found small, soft hands instead removing his jacket for him. At first he thought it was Riley, being the person that she was, and was only sitting behind him but as his jacket was removed and he was guided by Riley to sit down to catch his breath she saw Kent had taken his jacket and folded it over a chair and turned to observe Chandler, his face whiter than usual.

Between his deep intakes of air he uttered a faint “Thank you.” Over to Kent’s direction and heard his reply shortly afterwards. “It’s ok Sir.”

 

Ten minutes after the incident Chandler was back in his office, having changed his shirt, tie and wore a spare blazer from his locker. Between his hands he held a mug of green tea and he sniffed in the calming fragrance before taking a sip.

He saw Miles enter the room and stopped by Riley’s desk to be updated about Chandler’s wobble earlier. Chandler could feel himself redden out of shame. Why was he being like this?

Miles looked back up from Riley towards the office and his walk started up brisker than usual.

Miles didn’t knock to come in.

“What was this about earlier?” Miles demanded in his worried father tone. Chandler did not doubt he had used the same voice to his sons.

“I just had a small panic attack, its dealt with now.”

He took a sip of his tea hoping Miles wouldn’t press further.

Of course he didn’t stop.

“Chandler, I’ve noticed things haven’t been easy around here lately and I’ve been concerned for you for a while now. I was wondering if I should ask this but I can’t deny the fact any longer. Joe, I think you should take a break.”

A break?

Miles sat down opposite Chandler, looking guilty. “I know you’re too stubborn to listen to me and I know you won’t take one but if do feel you want to ease the pressure and take a break you know that’s fine by me.”

Chandler sighed and responded back, he felt as guilty as Miles looked.

“I don’t want to be a burden to you and the rest of the team but tomorrow Commander Anderson is coming over and I’m just worried about that it’s all.”

“What? Commander Anderson? I thought it was only going to be a cautionary check-up?”

“Well apparently the commissioner is even more worried than they made us out to believe.”

Miles was quiet, worry written across the lines of his face. He really was looking older these days, Chandler contemplated.

“Well, we got nothing to worry about, work is quiet but cases are still coming in, however small. Tomorrow morning the room would have freshened up with some nick of paint and we both hold as much faith in our team as they do with us.”

Chandler really did admire how positive Miles was these past few weeks.

“You’re right. The talk with Anderson just shook me I guess.” Chandler tried to give Miles a reassuring smile but he wasn’t sure if he was convincing.

He didn’t want to worry Miles about the hallucinations he was having about the blood.

“Miles,” Chandler said, his tone more relaxed now. “I was wondering if we could have a drink some place tonight, to wind out and talk about what they’re doing from now on. It would be good for both of us.”

He saw something in Miles break and he went back to his guilty looking state. Miles hesitated, looking as bad as Chandler had ever saw him.

“I’d love to Chandler, a break from this place and home would be a treat, you know that Joe. But I’m afraid I can’t do tonight. The wife has some plans for me and the kids-”

Chandler smiled and waved his hand to tell him not to panic. “Don’t worry Miles. I know how busy your life is. I’ll probably just stay here for an extra hour tonight and head home for an early night anyway. Be best for me.”

Miles left him a moment after, guilt and panic in his eyes.

He had never seen Miles look that way before. 


	4. Miles

Buchan was waiting where Miles had told him, on a street corner next to a decrepit pub. It was raining and Miles spotted Buchan’s umbrella covering him firstly, the short, round man was standing underneath the orange glow of a street lamp and pulled up next to him. Buchan abruptly sat in and shook his umbrella dry before closing it.

“Terrible weather.”

“That’s London for you.” Miles simply replied.

Miles was feeling especially sombre this evening and was encouraging any small chat form Buchan, he simply was too nervous and afraid to talk. He wouldn’t have admitted it to Buchan of course, he played grumpy to disguise his increasing unease about tonight. He was going behind his DI, his own department and performing an unauthorised stake out but he knew he had to do this, for himself, for his own piece of mind.

Sleeping had been hard after that faithful night of the crash, he could picture the old woman being involved somehow and was haunted by that face, his own family had noticed his insomnia and he hadn’t been easy to avoid the concerned scrutiny his wife gave him some nights as he struggled to juggle work and family. 

He hoped that after tonight he can sleep more peacefully.

Buchan was fussing about in his bag and huffing to himself about something under his breath. Miles was alerted out of his own thoughts when Buchan brought out the Louise Ivers’ file.

“I assume you know what you’re doing.” Buchan stated as Miles neared their desired destination, to a rough looking area of Whitechapel, it took Miles a while to recognise the place, but the smell reminded Miles why the area was familiar to him. One of Abrahamians’ victim were found beneath this area in the sewers, and his theory grew ever more solid in his head as he parked underneath a bridge of a train route, and stopped the engine, all lights flickered off, leaving the car in shadow.

Buchan narrowed his eyes at the block of flats that were slowly falling apart, a look of distaste on his face.

“How can a woman of that age be living in a dump like this?” Buchan mostly asked himself.

Miles took out a pair of binoculars and gazed at the place, it was strangely quiet for a rough neighbourhood. And a most was coming in slowly, making the view even harder to observe.

“If what I suspect is right, she is no incapable old lady, Ed.” Miles sighed and rubbed his eyes after he removed the binoculars. It suddenly dawn on him how ridiculous he sounded, and if Chandler saw him now he’d believe Miles was insane. But he had to try, just for this night.

He looked across to Buchan who was now treating himself to a pack lunch he had prepared himself, and also, another for Miles. He handed Miles his.

“Buchan, what are you doing?”

Buchan bit into his tuna and cucumber sandwich and chewed loudly, “Eating.” he said, spitting out crumbs, “If I am doing to sit through a stake out all night you can’t expect me not to eat.”

Miles rolled his eyes but he could not deny Buchan’s lunch for him. How come he didn’t think to bring refreshments? Perhaps his recent lack of appetite had not made the idea occur but he secretly thanked Buchan for the food.

After an hour or sitting, sighing, eating, slurping coffee and of Buchan getting on his nerves, a light switched on in the top floor of the flat, the floor where Louise Ivers was living on. Miles sat straight in his seat and laid his eyes through the binoculars.  Buchan did the same. 

“She’s moving.” Miles said. Each light of the building began lighting up and flickering off again as she moved through the building. Miles put down the binoculars and turned to Buchan who had suddenly turned white from nerves.

“I thought you weren’t scared of her?” He added, seeing Buchan hesitate at the car door handle at his side.

“I’m not, I’m scared of not knowing.” Buchan replied, Miles could understand. Buchan was used to facts and hard evidence. But wasn’t he also a storyteller, a finder of truth?

Miles pulled out his gun before he opened his side of the door and when he was standing by the car watching the building for a moment Buchan was out of the car right after him. He was armed of course but Miles was still cautious and Buchan wore a stab vest underneath his own knitted vest.

“Right, you remember what I told you? Stay behind me at all times, don’t make any sudden noises and if Ivers turned out to be innocent just leave me to do the explaining.”

When Buchan nodded, followed with a dry swallow Miles approached the block of flats, Buchan a few paces behind.

Miles wasn’t sure what he would find or if he would find any incriminating at all concerning Ivers but it did not stop him entering and slowly climb the many levels to the top floor. When the quietness around him almost deafened him, his heart and head thudding at his ears he reached the top ground and stopped just as he turned the bend on the stair case as he found Louise Ivers form, dressed all in red as usual, her hood up concealing her face but Miles could not deny her small frame. Louise Ivers had been expected them and she stood incredibly too close to the edge of the top step to leave Miles comfortable with the situation. Miles kept his gun behind him, hoping Ivers had not noticed and felt Buchan catch up behind him, almost colliding into Miles. He gasped in surprised and looked over Miles’ shoulder to see the red lady.

She lifted her head and both men could see her lined, kindly face look at them, a faint smile across her thin lips.

Miles reached into his inside pocket of his jacket slowly, hoping not to alarm her and pulled out his badge, he showed it to her for a long while. “I am Detective Sergeant  Miles and this is Edward Buchan, our researcher. But you’d know him of course, meeting him at the book launch.” Miles finished with acid in his voice.

“Oh I know you Ray Miles also. But it’s good to see Edward join you. I had hoped there’d be more than one of you.”

Miles was growing anxious at Ivers calmness and to her rehearsed monologue.  There was perhaps 15 steps that separated Miles between Ivers and if she was due to anything Miles would have to be fast to stop her. He was underestimating this old woman at all.

Behind him he heard Buchan clear his throat.

“Would you mind please?” Buchan asked Miles, and reluctantly Miles allowed him to continue, stepping up on the same step as Miles so they were level to each other.

“Miss Ivers, or is it Mrs? I’m sorry if I press any buttons or anything but I just wanted to ask, how exactly did you do it?”

Miles frowned at Buchan’s question. So he did believe in Ivers abilities to manipulate crime.

The lights above Ivers flickered out for a second, leaving Ivers in shadow but the effect did not last as she was lit up again, bathed in red. She tilted her head at Buchan’s question slowly, leaving a chilling sensation down Miles spine as she did so.

“Why Mr Buchan, what I always do. What I was made to do.” She closed her eyes for a minute, like she was considering something in her head about something and when she was satisfied she took a deep breath and opened them again. Miles wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light but Ivers’ whole eyes were black for an instant and then remained normal. She gave him the most unsettling smile.

That was when Miles raised his gun to her. “Louise Ivers I am putting you under arrest for disturbing police investigation and for vandalism acts against-”

But as Miles tried to approach the old woman she leant forward and let herself topple over the dge of the step and rolled down the steps between her and Miles. Before she had hit half way Miles heard the fatale crack of her head on the concrete and Buchan near enough collapse behind him, leaning against the cold wall and gasping for air in shock.

Miles blood ran cold and felt his face whitening at what had just happened.

How was he going to explain this? Was this her last hurrah, to set up Miles, to make him out as the villain in all of this?

He stared at the mound of red at his feet and willed himself to check for pulse even though it was a lost cause. His hand came in contact to her skin at her tiny, fragile wrist and already she was freezing, as if she had died years before.

“What now?” Buchan barely whispered.

Miles was frozen for a moment, unable to calm Buchan with a good answer. He then remembered who he was, not his father, but a detective. He did the only noble thing he could think of and pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket.

Miles still stood, gazing at the body. “Now we hold our breaths.”

 

 


End file.
